Jake listened until Robert run out of steam. “Helen mentioned one of the men at the restaurant told her she should work at The Palace. Now, there is a car, a note with this guy’s name, and The Palace written on it. Don’t you think you might want to check that out?”
“There is a connection there.” Jake agreed.
“Last year I drove to The Palace to bring in the owner, Rick Dawson, for questioning. He came to the station voluntarily. He’s quite the character. He told me to come work for him if I ever got tired of being pushed around.” Robert grimaced.
“I’ll bet the men working on The Dalles Dam weren’t too worried about the law. I heard when they started work on it, Dawson made a deal with the owner of a couple of houses nearby to rent them. He’s run a sweet deal there for years.”
“Goes to prove the mob can pay the police to look the other way when it comes to upholding the law.” Jake held out his hand. Robert grinned as he reached into his pocket and flipped a butterscotch candy to Jake.
“I take it we’re going to visit The Palace?” Jake grinned at Robert and wiggled his eyebrows.
“I guess we have to. When do you want to go?”
“Tomorrow, I have a dentist appointment in the morning, but I will be here before noon. This tooth is killing me, and Lorene’s been giving me grief over not getting it fixed.”
“It is all tough guy when you get here, but at home, I bet you lie down and whine until she waits on you hand and foot. She isn’t so concerned about your tooth. She’s sick of babying you. One baby is enough.” Robert spoke the last words as Jake walked out the door waving his hand
Jake called the next morning to tell Robert he had an abscessed tooth and Lorene was taking him to the dentist. Robert clocked out with dispatch and before he left, the news was all over the department.
“Headed out to The Palace, huh? Well, watch yourself. I hear those girls can get you upstairs before you can tell them no.” The teasing and laughs of his fellow officers followed him down the hall.
Robert ground his teeth, wondering who found out? Nate? Had Arnie leaked this information to his nephew to have the guys harass him a bit?
The Palace was located just across the Columbia River from The Dalles in Dallesport, Washington. The landscape had changed. The government decided to build a dam to control flooding on the Columbia River. The dam flooded the areas behind it, including Celilo Falls and all the Indian fishing grounds. That had been a hotbed of controversy.
In the early 1950s, when the bridge to connect The Dalles to Washington State began construction, Rick Dawson, an opportunistic businessman, rented a local house as a place where the construction workers could relax and enjoy female companionship or spend the night instead of driving home. Now it was known as The Palace. Rick had long since bought the place, torn down the old house, and built a two-story, Victorian-style house.
Robert drove through the tall, iron gates of the horseshoe driveway and stopped in front of the impressive entrance. A man walked around the side of the building and stood on guard as Robert walked up the steps to the wide front porch and rang the doorbell. The one thing this place had going for it was the best possible view of the Columbia River, Mount Hood, and the surrounding mountain range. It was too bad it had to be run by a member of the mob.
The etched glass door opened for him, and he stepped into the foyer. A tall, muscular man waited for Robert to speak, but Robert stood silent until the man asked, “Whatcha want?” his deep voice just slightly insolent.
“I’m here to see Dawson.” Robert’s feet were apart and slightly bent.
“Whaddya want to see him about?” the man crossed his arms and waited.
“Tell him Collins is here, and I’m calling in my marker.”
“You hold a marker of Mr. Dawson’s? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Being a comedian isn’t my line of work, but it might be the only kind of work left for you if you don’t get my message to your boss and quick,”
The bodyguard started to move toward Robert, but Robert let the flap of his coat open, revealing the shoulder holster and his badge.
“Da boss don’t like fighting in the house,” the man whirled lightly on his feet and went through a door with a brass plate engraved “Private.”
Robert looked around. Nothing had changed since he made his first bust here. The décor came straight out of an Old West bawdy house; red velvet lampshades with beads that hung off the edges, matching tucked settees, and the girls were probably just as bad as they were back then. The rooms upstairs were used for the same reasons now as they had been in those days. Everything seemed red, gold, and gaudy.
“Well, if it isn’t my old friend Detective Collins. What did you say to my man to get him so riled?” Rick Dawson was the consummate saloon owner. Tall, thin, and he wore a black, Western-cut suit, white ruffled shirt, and black ribbon tie. He looked like he stepped straight out of an old Western movie. He sported a thin mustache and clamped a Havana cigar between his teeth
“Dawson, you should stop showing those mob movies to your boys. They’re talking and acting like James Cagney.”
“You’re probably right, but I like the movies and the boys like what I like. What can I do for you?” Dawson moved into the dining room to a table near the window and called for a coffee and beer to someone out of sight.
Robert bent his long legs under the table, covered with a clean but stained tablecloth.
“What do you know about John Lutz? Who’s he hanging out with since he’s been out of the pen?” Robert came right to the point. There was no need for small talk.
“What makes you think he’s been here?” Dawson asked without a pause.
“I found his introduction to your place in a car he must have used. He isn’t too smart to leave your calling card in an abandoned car.”
Dawson shrugged but didn’t deny it.
A girl sashayed to the table with the beer and coffee on a tray. Robert didn’t even try to guess her age. She applied her makeup with a heavy hand and cracked her gum in Robert’s ear as she set his coffee down, then reached across the table to set the beer in front of Dawson. Her breasts pressed against Robert’s cheek, and he frowned irritably at the man across the table.
“Beat it, Dee!” Dawson waited until the girl left and he lit the cigar, leaning back in his chair. “Roy was here with a little squirrel named Frank Nelson. Lutz has some relatives around here. They might have seen the two lately.”
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“They were here drinking and playing cards a couple of weeks ago. They split, and I haven’t seen them since.” Dawson sucked on his cigar.
“You know the date they were here?” Robert flipped open his notebook.
“December ninth.”
“How can you be so specific?”
“It was my birthday. I was having a private party. They insisted on a private room, and they promised not to interfere. I felt sorry for them and let them have a room and a couple of girls. They paid for it, of course.”
“So, Lutz has relatives around the area, but they stayed here?”
“They were here. I didn’t watch them every minute. I don’t know when they left.”
“You do verify they were here on the ninth,” Robert pressed.
“Yes, I can say that. They paid, they got a room.” Dawson tapped the edge of the cigar on the ashtray.
“You didn’t see them leave? What car were they driving then?”
“No, I don’t watch the clients. The boys do, so that they don’t make trouble.”
“Then can I talk to ‘the boys’?”
“Nah, I think we’ve talked enough. I gave you all the information you need.” Dawson tapped the ashes into the tray and looked over his shoulder. The two guards moved to stand behind the seated man.